


A Pox on Both Your Houses

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Tumblr Fics [18]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bullying, Caretaking, Childhood Illnesses, Eugenics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Racism, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Maybe something where there's a role reversal and Steve is the one who has to look after a sick Bucky?" </p><p> </p><p>____________________</p><p>Steve told Connie about the chicken pox, but she didn’t believe him. “Where’d he touch a chicken, huh?”</p><p>“That’s not how it works.” </p><p>“Is so, my daddy said so.”</p><p>“Well my ma’s a nurse - and she says chicken pox don’t come from chickens.”</p><p> “They do to, that’s why it’s called chicken pox. You’re a liar and so’s your ma!”</p><p> “Is not! Don’t you talk about my ma like that!”</p><p> “Don’t you lie about the chicken pox then. He ain’t got chicken pox cause he ain’t touch a chicken, he got smallpox and the only small he spend any time with is you. You’re sick and awful and you’re the reason Bucky’s gonna die!”  </p><p>“Bucky’s not gonna die! You take that back!”</p><p>“No! You gave Bucky smallpox, and you’re gonna get all of us sick too!” Steve recoiled and stared at Connie in shock. She had big fat tears in her eyes and her face was all splotchy, and he didn’t have anything he could say in his defence. Struggling to not cry in front of her, he turned on his heel and he promptly left school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pox on Both Your Houses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriousBlackout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousBlackout/gifts).



> This was a gift prompt I received on Tumblr for my 300th follower. Notes and warnings are at the end so as not to spoil this story for anyone who doesn't mind. Please note that some phrasing, attitudes, and beliefs are period typical and not the view of this author. Nor would these statements be considered acceptable in modern society.

“I’m...ve, but….can….let….in,” Mrs. Barnes had the door cracked open only a little. Her foot was blocking it from opening any farther, and she had a cloth pressed against her mouth so he couldn't read her lips. Steve shifted, one foot carrying more weight than the other. It didn't matter, he had heard enough to get the point.

“Is it bad?” he asked nervously. Bucky hadn’t been to school in three days, and he was usually the pinnacle of hale and hearty. Connie had even broken her usual rule of ignoring him completely in order to ask where Bucky was.

“Ye know...” Mrs. Barnes started, but Steve didn’t catch the rest. He tilted his head, leaning closer to try to hear her better. Her blue eyes crinkling in the corners, and Steve couldn’t tell if she was smiling or grimacing behind her cloth, but her voice was strained either way. “He’s a fighta.” Steve nodded in response and tried to peer around the crack in the door. Mrs. Barnes’s body was blocking the hole completely, though. He couldn’t even see the wooden planks on the floor beneath her her feet.

“I can help?” Steve asked. “He’s looked afta me before.” Mrs. Barnes’s fingers tightened on the cloth, and she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but can-” There was a sound of wet coughing from behind her, and Steve could hear that loud and clear. Mrs. Barnes twisted her head to look into the tenement. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I have ta go.” She closed the door without even looking back, and Steve flinched as the loud banging rattled through his ears. He rubbed at them uncomfortably.

He hadn’t lied. Last summer, when the Fever almost took him, his friend had sat at his side and read him his school work so he wouldn’t fall behind. He made him food, he helped Ma with the cookin’ and the cleanin’ and he’d been swell. Everyone said so. And after, when his heart didn’t beat so good anymore, and he couldn’t breathe too well, Bucky never once treated him like the other kids at school.

Steve leaned forward and pressed his head against the door. He could just barely hear Mrs. Barnes’s voice on the other side. Mrs. Barnes had asked for Ma’s help yesterday. She’d come over, near breathless, and quietly asked if there was any way Ma could look in on Bucky. Ma had pat Steve on the head and hurried out the door. She didn’t come back until early in the morning, after Mr. Morris from 2B had already left for work and Mrs. Morris had started playing the radio on loud.

Steve always knew when to get up for school because of Mrs. Morris. She turned the radio on every morning at six, music bursting through the peeling paper wall between their tenements. Bucky once shouted at the wall, telling her to turn it down because Steve was needing his sleep. Steve tried tellin’ Bucky that he was mostly deaf anyway so it shouldn't matter.

“Well ‘course you’re deaf listen’ to that racket every mornin’,” Bucky had complained. Ma had given Bucky an extra helping of lemon cake for that. Ma made the best lemon cake. Steve had a slice in his bag now, ready to give over to Bucky in hopes it'd make him feel better.

He hadn’t had a chance to give it to Mrs. Barnes before she closed the door, and Steve knew if he knocked again she’d just send him on his way. He didn’t want to bother her. Not when she was helping Bucky get better.

There’d been a flu going around the neighborhood. All sorts of people were getting sick. Even the McGinnis twins, who’d never been sick a day in their lives, were both tucked down in bed. Ma had been working long hours at the hospital because of it, and Steve took it upon himself to make her dinner every night so she wouldn’t have to do it once she got home. He’d even take it to her at the hospital when she had to work the night shift. 

The doctors and nurses all ignored him when he wandered the hospital, familiar with the twisting turns of the building. Ma didn’t like him in there, worried he’d get himself sick again, but he wasn’t concerned. He wanted to make sure she’d eat and get some rest too. He didn’t get much money as a newsie, but it was enough to get her one good meal once and a while.

“Steve?” He leaned back from Bucky’s front door and straightened immediately. Mr. Barnes was a war hero, just like Steve’s pop. But Mr. Barnes made it back from the war where pop didn’t.

“‘Lo Mr. Barnes,” Steve greeted quietly. His fingers tightened on the paperbag holding Buck’s lemon cake. Mr. Barnes worked over in Manhattan all day on the new buildings going up. He had dirt and grease from the construction all over his clothes, and his skin was always stained with soot from welding.

“Whatcha doin’ here lad?” Mr. Barnes asked him. He always made sure to talk extra loud, but Mr. Barnes also had his left ear blown out in the Great War, so he needed to talk loud in any case. Still, Steve always understood what Mr. Barnes had to say because of it. Never needed to worry ‘round him.  

“Jus’ wanted ta see Buck...he ain’t been in school all week. ‘N Connie was askin ‘bout him. So…”

“He’s gon’ be all right Steve.” Mr. Barnes reached out a hand and tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Barnes had big hands, thick and firm. It spanned right across his shoulder and down towards his shoulderblades. There was a big scar on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger from where the slide of his pistol had caught him in the trenches.

“Yeah?” Steve never did think Mr. Barnes would lie to him, but Mr. Barnes wasn’t all there. He was sad a whole bunch, and some of the people on the street said he was made simple in the war. Ma said that Mr. Barnes was the one who told her ‘bout pop.

_(“Your pop was a good one, saved all those men in the war. He was a real hero. You see this?” Ma held up the bronze medal that hung from a pretty ribbon of red and white. He and Bucky leaned towards it, interested. “This means he died in battle, brave as can be. He was a good one. He was.”_

__

_Mr. Barnes didn’t like the medal. When Bucky asked him if he had a medal too, he scowled. “A man won’t sell you his life, but he’ll give it to you for a piece of colored ribbon.” Ma had to leave the room after that. Then she was sad all night.)_

“Yeah, course he’ll be.”

“I got him some lemon cake,” Steve told him, holding the bag up. “It’s his favorite. Ma made it special.”

“He’ll like that.”

“Yeah, I think so.” He shifted again from one foot to the other. His feet were always hurting these days. The doc said he was growing in all wrong. He’d be short, crippled, and hobbled his whole life. His legs were always aching, and his back was crooked. Standing about hurt, and walking sometimes felt like pins were going up him twisting his knees wonky.

Mr. Barnes carefully reached for the bag Steve was still holding out, and took it between his big palms. “Winnie keep you out here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Barnes nodded slowly. “I jus’ wanna see if he’s all right, sir. Please? He made sure I was all right...I owe him….”

“You ain’t owe anyone for doin’ their Christian duty.” Mr. Barnes said God and God alone pulled him through the war. He was as Christian as Christian could be, and he raised his children just like that. Ma thought that was mighty good of him.

“Yes, sir. I know, sir. But…please let me do mine?” Mr. Barnes face twisted unhappily, and Steve wondered if he’d pushed his luck. Mr. Barnes wasn’t always the easiest to get on with, and he could be fierce if pressed. He didn’t like anyone talkin’ back, and Steve didn’t know when to shut his trap - everyone said so. Bucky said it the most.

“Yer ma know yer here, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“Ye get sick, yer ma’s gon’ be right mad at us, ‘n she’ll have good reason too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ye already been given last rights, boy. Twice, if I recall.” Last summer really hadn’t been too good for him. He’d pulled through the Fever, but he’d given them all a scare. Bucky had promised to knock his head in for scaring him like that. He hadn’t done it yet, but Steve was pretty sure it was due.

“Should be good for a while yet then, huh?” Steve asked carefully. Mr. Barnes hesitated, then laughed. He threw his head back and laughed with a great loud booming sound that made him break off coughing at the end. The same mustard gas that killed pop had scarred his lungs somethin’ awful. They said he was lucky to be alive. Steve was grateful that Bucky’s dad was around, even if _his_ pop wasn’t. Bucky’s sisters wouldn’t’ve been born without Mr. Barnes around.

“Come on in then,” Mr. Barnes said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t ye be gettin’ sick, Steve.”

“Yes, sir!” Steve promised. He hurried in after Mr. Barnes, moving as quick as he dared into the tenement and looking around for where Bucky was. He saw Becca first. She was keeping Lizzie and Emma quiet in the kitchen, and she frowned at Steve when she saw him.

“How come we’re not ‘llowed to bring friends over?” she asked Mr. Barnes smartly. He didn’t answer her. He just walked in towards the back of the apartment where all the beds were aligned. Bucky usually shared with the girls, but whenever one of them was sick his parents tried to separate them as best they could. They had a tub under the window sill that served as the table when they were eating. Someone had pulled the top off and lined the tub with blankets and pillows. Bucky was curled up inside, his brown hair just barely visible on the side as Mrs. Barnes crouched before him. She was propping him up, one arm across his front, the other carefully poised in order to slap his back.

She turned to look over her shoulder towards her husband and immediately caught sight of Steve. “Oh you fool boy, I told ye to go!”

Bucky coughed wetly, earning him a few hard strikes just on his spine. Ma did that to him all the time when he was sick, getting the gunk up from his lungs. “He was gonna come in whether we wanted him out or not,” Mr. Barnes said with a sigh. He peered down into the tub, and Steve tried to inch closer and see his friend’s face. Mrs. Barnes kept him turned away.

“Whozzit?” Bucky mumbled from his mother’s pit.

“It’s me,” Steve called out. Bucky was always a perfect gentleman towards his ma, but he wriggled out of her hold and leaned around her body.

“Steve?” Bucky’s face was waxy and pale. He was sweating badly, brown hair poking up in all angles. There were tiny red dots across his skin, and he was sniffling badly.

“You don’t have the flu!” Steve announced inelegantly. He trotted forwards, peering down at Bucky in confusion. The red dots didn’t look like any flu he’d seen before, and he’d seen the flu more than enough to recognize its symptoms.

“It’s smallpox,” Bucky told him. That was a lot worse than the flu. It was just awful.

“It ain’t smallpox. It’s chicken pox,” Mrs. Barnes told him waspishly. “Don’t be telling tales.”

“It’s smallpox!” Bucky insisted.

“Can’t be smallpox, the indians all have smallpox and you don’t know no indians,” Steve pointed out. Bucky’s face crumpled. They’d just learned about the indians and smallpox in school. It had something to do with blankets and early settlers, and Steve had dozed off at some point during the whole discussion, but he was certain that was the half of it. Bucky coughed again, and scratched at some of the spots on his throat.

“That what they’re teaching you boys in school nowadays? Smallpox comes from indians?” Mr. Barnes asked.

“Ain’t it so?” Steve asked.

“Nah, smallpox been around long before them Indians. Had it back in our home country, and we’ll have it again. This inn’t nothin’ to fear, boy. It’s jus’ the chicken pox.”

“Well whatcha been doin’ around chickens?” Steve asked Bucky seriously.

“Ain’t been round no chickens!” Bucky replied. “I don’t like chickens. I don’t wanna see another chicken-” he coughed badly, whimpering as his head lolled when he was done. Steve looked about. There was a pitcher of water on the floor, and he reached for it, pouring a glass for his friend and handing it to him. His mother took it first, and then helped ease it over so Bucky could drink. “For as long as I live…” Bucky murmured unhappily.

“An’ it’s a bit o’ flu as well,” Mr. Barnes explained. “The coughin’ and the wheezin’ ‘n all. Jus’ a cold on top of it. Yer ma confirmed it las’ night. We were worried it mighta been pneumonia, but he’s jus’ got a cold.”

“But he’s gonna be all right?”

“ _He’s_...right here…” Bucky informed, shivering unhappily in the tub. His mother wrapped a blanket tighter around him.

“If he can continue being smart, he can continue living for a wee bit more. Yes.” Mrs. Barnes sighed. “But he’s contagious. So don’t ye touch him or anything near him, Steven.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky gave him a weak smile, and another line of sweat slipped down his face. Steve scooted a mite closer, but didn’t touch him at all. 

“Gee Buck, I was real worried. But it sounds like you’re just fine, huh?”

“I’ll...show you just fine,” Bucky moaned. “I got smallpox.”

“Ye ain’t got smallpox,” Mr. Barnes told him firmly, and any humor he may have had vanished in an instant. “I seen smallpox first hand. I seen men tougher than you die from it. I seen what it does. Ye ain’t got smallpox and you say it again I’ll take ye over my knee. Ye hear me, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky replied quietly, staring up at his father with wide eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

“Ye ain’t got smallpox,” Mr. Barnes repeated. Steve shuffled a touch closer towards the tub, and sat down on the floor, watching as Mr. Barnes turned away from the tub and started back towards the kitchen where the girls were holed up. “Go put something on for dinner,” he ordered Becca. She nodded her head and hurried towards the stove, and Steve bit his lip.

“How long ya gonna be sick for, Buck?” Steve asked quietly. Bucky turned as best he could and rested his head on the side of the tub. He looked like he was going to fall asleep talking, and Steve knew Bucky would just hate that.

“Don’ know. Yer ma said somethin’ like two weeks. Said I’d be okay after that. She didn’ tell ya?”

“Nah, she had ta go to work real early - just said you were sick. What’d ya need her for?”

“Fever got high,” Bucky replied, yawning. He had to cough again, but he turned his head into the tub and coughed down towards the bottom before lookin’ back up to Steve. Mrs. Barnes reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He looked dreadful. The little red dots were awful to see. Steve didn’t like them at all. “She said that’d be the worst of it though. Jus...gotta keep my fever down.”

“Connie Rice was askin’ for you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes were closing and he nustled into the pillow beneath his head. “What’d...she say?”

“She said she wanted to know what you were doin’ ‘n if you were gonna die. But you ain’t right?”

“I ain’t...’m jus’ tire…”

“I brought you some lemon cake.”

“S’good...thank...Stee…” Bucky was out. Mrs. Barnes sighed a great breath of relief, then pulled one of the blankets more firmly around her son’s body.

“He’ll be all right, Steve.”

“You promise?” he asked, looking up at her. She nodded her head.

“I promise, now go. Get ye home before yer ma finds out where ye been. She don’ wan’ ye gettin’ sick, nor do I. Go on. Get.” Steve nodded and took one last look at his friend before getting to his feet.

“Can I come back tomorow?” he asked carefully.

“Yes, ye can come back. Just for a few minutes, but no longer. Ye don’ touch nothin’ and ye don’ over stay yer welcome. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Winifred, honestly Steven. You act like we’ve never been introduced.”

“No ma’am. I mean, yes ma’am. I mean-”

“Go home, Steve.”

“Right. Goodbye then.” He hurried towards the door, pausing as he slinked passed Mr. Barnes.  Mr. Barnes was standing by the sink, hands clenched as he glared at the wrapped slice of lemon cake and taking a few deep breaths. “Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Barnes,” Steve whispered.

“He’s got chicken pox. You tell those kids at school, it’s chicken pox. Not smallpox. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Good. Go home.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir. Good night, sir.” Steve all but tripped himself on his way home. He hurried down the back alleys, stumbling over loose cobblestone and broken bricks. He took the stairs two at a time, wheezing for breath once he got to the top. His heart was aching painfully from the exertion, and he’d need to lay down for a while, but he’d made it back before his ma’s shift ended.

Not that it much mattered. When he pressed open the door, he found his ma sitting by the stove, breathing deeply over a mug of steaming water. They didn’t have enough money for tea, and it was the principle of the thing more than anything else.

“Ma?” he asked carefully, walking towards her. She looked up and smiled.

“Heya Stevie, my love. How was your day?”

“Okay….you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. You stop by the Barnes’?”

“Yes,” no use lying to Ma. She always knew everything anyway. “Bucky’s got chicken pox.”

“He does, yes, he’s got chicken pox. You didn’t touch him did you?”

“No, Mrs. Barnes said not to. He’s gonna be okay right?”

“Yes, yes of course love. Come here. Please?” he did. He walked towards her, and she wrapped her arm around him. “Please don’t get sick again, love. Okay? Please?”

“Okay ma. Okay.” Ma pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and then stood up and wiped her eyes.

“Now, how about we make some soup for James, hm?”

“He’ll like that.”

“Yes, yes he will won’t he?” She smiled at him and ran a hand through his bangs, adjusting them just so. “Such a handsome lad you’ll be when you grow old.”

“Not now?”

“Now? Now You’re cute as a button!” she laughed. “But one day, you’ll be breaking hearts. I can see it now.”

“Awe ma…”

“You will. I know it.” Turning to the stove she set to work, and Steve grinned.

“A heartbreaker huh?” he asked carefully.

“Mm...you and James both.” She was starting in on the broth. They had a bone left over from the night before, and she was filling a pot full of water to set it to boil on the stove.

“Buck’s gonna be okay...right ma?” Steve asked quietly. She paused at the stove. “He really don’t got smallpox?”

“He’s going to be fine, Steve. He’s got the Lord on his side. Nothin’s gonna happen to him.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.” She turned and knelt in front of him, pulling him to her chest once again in a fierce embrace. “He’s going to be okay.”

“He’s going to be okay,” he repeated, tears coming to his eyes without him realizing. He clung to his mother’s body and squeezed his arms tight. “He’s going to be okay.”

“He’s going to be okay. You’ll see. He’ll be back in school by the end of the month.”

But he wasn’t.

Steve stopped by the Barnes’ tenement every day for two weeks, bringing food and homework, sitting as close as Mrs. Barnes would let him sit, and talking as much as he could. Ma came by almost every other day to tend to Bucky’s fever and to try to help him drink some fluids. Becca and the girls came to stay at their apartment for a while, sleeping in Steve’s bed while Mr. and Mrs. Barnes stayed behind to look after Bucky.

Steve told Connie about the chicken pox, but she didn’t believe him. “Where’d he touch a chicken, huh?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Is so, my daddy said so.”

“Well my ma’s a nurse - and she says chicken pox don’t come from chickens.”

“They do to, that’s why it’s called chicken pox. You’re a liar and so’s your ma!”

“Is not! Don’t you talk about my ma like that!”

“Don’t you lie about the chicken pox then. He ain’t got chicken pox cause he ain’t touch a chicken, he got smallpox and the only _small_ he spend any time with is _you_. You’re sick and awful and you’re the reason Bucky’s gonna die!”  

“Bucky’s not gonna die! You take that back!”

“No! You gave Bucky smallpox, and you’re gonna get all of us sick too!” Steve recoiled and stared at Connie in shock. She had big fat tears in her eyes and her face was all splotchy, and he didn’t have anything he could say in his defence. Struggling to not cry in front of her, he turned on his heel and he promptly left school.

He didn’t visit Bucky again for another four days, skipping school every chance he had so he could sit in the hospital and read some of the books in the building's library. He had to know everything there was to know about pox - either kind, and he had to make sure that he hadn’t given it to Bucky.  He’s been sick with the Fever, flu, pneumonia, and all sorts of colds. He ain’t never been sick with the pox.

His plan to figure it out failed spectacularly though. The books in the hospital had big words that were hard to read, and he had to keep asking someone to help him understand. Eventually someone told is ma what he was doing, and he was sent straight back to school.

He sat in his seat, acutely aware of the way the kids shied away from him, expecting him to get them sick as well. Bucky’s seat was still empty, and he hated that his desk just sat there neglected. Bucky liked school. He liked doing his assignments and reading his books. Steve tried to keep up with the learning, but he always missed so many classes that it was hard to get through it. Bucky usually tutored him and helped him keep up, but he wasn’t as smart as Buck.

If Bucky did die, he’d probably just fail right out. Just another dirty Irish bit of trash livin’ in Brooklyn. Shame of the city.

He tried not to let it bother him when three tests in a row came back with failing marks on them. He just wasn’t so good with numbers. That’s all. They just got all mixed up, and sometimes he couldn’t see them right. They were all smudged on his papers and he had a hard time making out the teacher’s handwriting. It wasn’t his fault. It just wasn’t.

“What’s even the point of you?” Connie asked him when she saw his grade. He flipped the page over.

“Mind your own business,” he mumbled.

“Just go back to where you came from,” she sniped, before turning to talk to her friends. Steve didn’t like Connie Rice. He really didn’t.

He packed up his things, and he slid his bag over his shoulder. Everyone already knew he’d given Bucky the pox somehow. Connie was right. He didn’t belong here. He was just going to mess everything up. Maybe if he wasn’t here, his ma wouldn’t be so stressed all the time. She made enough money as a nurse to care for herself. He certainly wasn’t helping any.

Leaving school, he kept his head down as he walked back to his apartment. “Not even gonna say ‘hi’?” Bucky asked as he rounded the bend. Steve’s feet ground to a halt and he turned to stare openly at his friend. He was thinner than he was before he’d gotten sick, and he still seemed pale, but he was standing up straight and didn’t have a blemish in sight.

“What’re you doing here?!”

“Finally kicked it!” Bucky announced proudly. “I tell you what, I ain’t ever doin’ that again! Da even said so. Ya get it once and that's it!” He reached out a hand to clap Steve on the shoulder, but Steve stepped back immediately. Bucky’s hand hung out in the air between them, and Steve bit his lip when he saw the flash of hurt that crossed his friend’s face. “Sorry…” Bucky mumbled, dropping his hand to his side and rolling his thumb about his fingers awkwardly. “Uh- the doc said I wasn’t contageous anymore. Yer ma too. She said it was okay. Got fresh clothes ‘n everything.”

“No it’s not that- I don’t think-I just…” Steve didn’t even know where to start. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatchu sorry for?” Bucky asked. “Disappearin’ the last week or so? Gee Steve, I really missed ya. You got no idea - da was actin’ all stompy and everything. It was the worst. Kept saying he was gonna give me a strappin’ if I didn’t get better soon. Ugh. You’re lucky you ain’t got that kinda pressure day in and day out. I tell you what.”

“Bucky!” Connie exited the school building and caught sight of them on the street. She ran over, all pretty curls and long legs. Bucky smiled as big as could be and wrapped her up in an even bigger hug.

“Well howdy, Connie Rice. Fancy seein’ you here,” he grinned flirtatiously.

“You’re all right!”

“Course I’m all right, I’m the unbreakable Bucky Barnes, ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me down for good.”

“Everyone heard about how you had smallpox.”

“Nah, it was the chicken pox, innit Steve” he asked, glancing towards Steve expectantly. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. 

 

“Bucky, we know better. You don’t even know what a chicken looks like. How could you have gotten chicken pox?” She gave Steve a pointed look, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. His legs were really hurting today, and he wanted to go home and just die. It’d make everyone a lot happier.

Bucky’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “I know full well what a chicken looks like, and I tell you I hate ‘em. I ain’t never eatin’ another chicken so long as I live. The damn bastards gave me the pox and God as my witness I’ll die before I eat another chicken.”

Connie blinked rapidly, clearly trying to process that. Bucky released her from his hug and promptly moved towards Steve, throwing an arm around his shoulder and completely ignoring his instinctive flinch at the action. He didn't want to get Bucky sick again. He _didn't_.  “Honestly, I don’t know what I woulda done without this fella. He saved my life he did - kept me hale and hearty the whole way through. Damn chickens never got passed him once- if you’ll pardon the language -  and I couldn’t ask for a better friend.” Connie’s mouth opened and closed like a nutcracker, and Steve could feel the skin on his cheeks burning from embarrassment. “Ain’t no one caught smallpox from anyone, what kinda fool thing you thinking of? Smallpox comes from blankets on ships with rats, not small people. It’s a blanket brand, from across the ocean or something. Don’t be telling lies, Connie. It’s not nice.”

“Of course not, Bucky. Everyone knows Steve didn’t give you smallpox.”

“Good. Because it’s wrong. And I’d hate to have to hate someone for lying.” She flushed badly and nodded her head rapidly. “Good, well, have a nice day then Connie. Glad we had this talk. Come on Steve, lets go see if we can find the ice truck. I’d kill for some ice.”

“Sure, Buck,” he managed to get out before Bucky was dragging him down the street.

They barely made it four blocks before Steve had to ask. “ _Did_ you get smallpox?” Bucky didn’t answer for a long while, but when he did, it was with the most solemn expression Steve had ever seen.

“Chickens are the devil’s creation, Steve. I’m never touching, eating, nor interacting with a chicken for as long as I live. Hand to God.” Steve shook his head, laughing.

“You’re awful,” he told Bucky immediately. Bucky just grinned, ruffling Steve’s hair as he caught sight of the ice wagon.

“Come on! Let’s get it!” he shouted, before running as fast as he could to catch the truck. Steve watched him go, there was no way he could match his pace. But his friend was okay, he didn’t get smallpox, he was going to be fine.

Well, so long as they never touched a chicken again. How hard could that be?

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Steve's 'fever' was when he had Scarlet Fever and the complications which led to Rheumatic Fever, both are near fatal illness that left him chronically ill for the rest of his life, having scarred his heart and damaged his body.
> 
> Steve, Bucky, Connie, and several other characters discuss how the Indians gave the settlers small pox. This is from bad schooling more than anything else as they're misquoting lessons they learned. (Or quite possibly were taught wrong to begin with). 
> 
> There is period typical racism towards Indians and Irish, and Steve has internalized this. 
> 
> The eugenics of the time period is also shown through the bullying the children do towards Steve.


End file.
